


the pieces that are sacrificed in every game of chess

by miserybug



Series: why do you write like you're running out of time? [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft - Fandom, SMP live, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Betrayal, Friends to Enemies, Gen, Minecraft, block game war make brain go brrr, yeahhh yeahhh more of this bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:08:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26053192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miserybug/pseuds/miserybug
Summary: L'manberg falls, and out of the ashes a king rises.
Relationships: absolutely no shipping here, no no i don't think so
Series: why do you write like you're running out of time? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891264
Comments: 6
Kudos: 216





	the pieces that are sacrificed in every game of chess

**Author's Note:**

> more au time POGGIES !!!!!! make sure you read the previous fic if you want a little more context :)

Eret digs the dirt out of the way to reveal the tunnel with practiced nonchalance. He’s vibrating from excitement- the joy on his visible teammates faces is palpable. They watch him dig out the tunnel in awes silence- only broken by Tommy occasionally asking Tubbo to hand him his sword and Tubbo whispering for him to “Shut up, Tommy, we need to crouch!”

Wilbur laughs giddily, and Eret wonders what he’s thinking will happen next. “L’manburg strong!” the General says with a smile. Maybe he thinks their luck is turning around. The three other revolutionaries laugh with Wilbur in agreement. The man on his shoulder, the voice in his ear, urges him forwards like in his dreams. 

With a smug smile, he nods as if he’s on the same page. “They’ll never suspect a thing.” The horned man that watches him laughs at that one- and he bathes in his final seconds of camaraderie with his once friends. Finally, they reach the room. 

The blackstone room is dimly lit, the button on the floor sitting innocently at center stage. Eret rambles about a secret weapon, pointing to the labelled chests on the walls. Everyone moves to examine them with interest, except for-

“Oooh, what’s this button do?” asks Tommy, pressing it with innocent and ironic glee. a piston clicks. At the same time, Wilbur looks up from his chest. Eret braces himself. 

“The chests are empty,” he says, confusion morphing into panic as

Click, boom. 

The Dream team pops out-

Eret jumps for the wall-

George stabs wildly at Fundy’s invisible body-

Dream swipes through Tomm-

Punz fires his crossb-

Sapnap throws a p-

the rebels of L’manberg scream. 

and Eret laughs, manic and gleeful. 

“Down with the revolution,” he crows over their anguish, wading through piles of used and lost armor. He picks up a netherite helmet and pockets his own. It must be Tubbo’s, considering the kid was the only other one with a full set. He sets it on his head like the crown he knows he’s meant to wear. “It was never meant to be.”

Wilbur stutters for a moment, stunned to silence. Eret lets himself revel in that surprise, at his ability to make the wordsmith forget himself. “Eret…” he laments, a defeated sound. “How could you?” 

Tubbo wails through the communicator as he respawns. For a moment, he thinks he feels the ground rumble and the man that floats behind him’s expression flashes with surprise. He brushes it off, whatever worry he feels drowned out by the music of Tubbo’s anguish. Eret almost feels bad. He remembers the hours they’d spent preparing together, remembers how the kid looked up at him in joy when he’d bring him supplies, the secrets they’d shared which he’d then spilled right to Dream. 

“Eret, I farmed with you for hours! I tru-“ his cries are cut off by Tommy, who snatches the communicator from his best friend. 

“Eret,” the kid starts, furious. He bites it out through his teeth, spits the name with disgusted venom. Eret grins at the sound. The voice that sits on his shoulder barks out a laugh at the kid trying to sound intimidating. “I mean this in the nicest way possible,” and the rage in his voice makes it clear he really, really doesn’t. 

“You fucked up.” The boy’s voice shakes, and not even Eret can tell if it’s with anger or fear. Either way, his smile widens. 

He sticks his hands in his pockets as Dream gives him a hearty pat on the back, the masked man shaking with malicious laughter. “Farewell, gentlemen.” The revolutionaries are silent. 

Eret smiles and switches communicator channels, picking up his sword as he turns to walk down the corridor away from L’manberg. The voice on his shoulder hums a familiar tune, just barely audible under the victorious cries of his real teammates. 

“The world turned upside down…”


End file.
